


salt of earth

by llien



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: 1700s France, Again, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Community: writetomyheart, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, No blood sucking today lads just pure Sorrow and kind intentions, or next on Ven fucks up by assuming things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: He’d tell Ven about every single item, of all the memories and about old stories, and it’d be like Ven had undone every awful thing and plucked Sora from the past with nary a scratch on him, brand new and just as good.He waited expectantly, folding his arms behind his back and rocking on his heels. Sora’s back was deathly still in front of him, and Ven thought he might not even be breathing. Was hethatoverjoyed?It only took a single second more for Ven to realize it wasn’t joy freezing Sora to the spot.
Relationships: Background Sora/Vanitas, Sora & Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: write to my heart





	salt of earth

**Author's Note:**

> I just now realize I've never posted any works of vampire au.....oops. Long story short, mid 1700s france era sovani meet vampire ven, and after a horrifying turn of events, get turned into vampires against their will. Here's a story set shortly after that, in the time period where Vanitas is missing. (the actual work/end-ship is sorivani, and one day, hand to God, I'll write that lol)

“I love your surprises.”

Ven grinned at Sora’s comment, tips of his fangs bearing down on his lower lip from the force of his grin. “‘Course you do! I’m the best at them.” Sora’s hand was warm and chafed in his, calluses along Sora’s fingers and palms that Ven’s had never experienced. It wasn’t a detail that sobered, deterred, or otherwise bothered him. It was just how Sora was, before he’d come to Ven’s side.

On the tip of Ven’s tongue had been ‘I’m the  _ only  _ one who does them,’ but that wasn’t strictly true, and was a bitter, unsatisfied remark that Ven hid deep within the layers of his heart. Sora knew the relationship between Vanitas and Ven was on thin ice, if not completely broken through with no chance in hell of being fixed, but Ven would rather swallow a thousand bitter spoonfuls if it kept honey on Sora’s tongue and sweetness in his gaze.

In his mind’s eye, distracting him from the overrun garden filled with hollyhock and hyssop all the colors of mulberries, he remembered Sora’s room: quaint, if thought kindly, but crowded and towards the end, perpetually dusty where an exhausted Vanitas couldn’t remember to dust every nook and cranny. But there’d always been that rusted and pockmarked iron vase filled with the blooms of the season. Even now, he always saw honey-gold flowers beside Sora’s cheerful smile in his memory as he chatted with Ven through the open window at his bedside.

That was neither here nor there, and any mention of Vanitas would make Sora sad behind the eyes, a sight that brought more pain to Ven than if he’d just outright cry or yell in frustration. Sora never lost his temper though, not with Ven, and he was painfully aware of the careful construction of friendship and animal-timid kindness that stemmed from. 

The garden dirt was soft beneath his booted soles, grass trampled in their wake as Sora chattered about how pretty the garden was behind him. Despite his somber thoughts, a giddy excitement overtook Ven, thrumming in his stomach and almost tangible in the air beneath his feet, where he could almost skip. He’d worked for ages to salvage the bits and pieces that remained, not to mention fixing up the old garden shed without Sora noticing.

After the painfully long period of exhaustion and shock, Sora had practically sprung from his shell as if taking those first, trembling steps led into a life where only joy waited for him. The marked change had stunned Ven, as if the Sora from a year ago had come back without a smear to his name to dampen his spirits. Ven knew better now, though. 

The garden shed was around a bend in the garden, almost tucked into the forest bordering Ven’s estate. He’d had the peeling paint stripped and re-done, redone the varnish on the paneling, and even laid tile that glowed orange in a pattern reminiscent of a blooming flower. He’d had shelves installed that boasted all manner of trinkets from across the world instead of books that’d only bore Sora to tears, and even including a cupboard for any snacks Sora might want. The best part of all waited on the wooden table, though, even if it wobbled on uneven legs and had chips and scratches on it.

Sora slowed behind him, pulling on Ven who still held his hand. “Wow,” Sora breathed, “I never would’ve known this was here.”

“Please, you would’ve found it if I’d waited one day longer,” Ven laughed, buoyant joy evident even in the way his words floated on air. He bounced on his toes. “Go on! Look inside!”

Sora eyed him warily, trying to bury the grin crinkling the corners of his lips. It was a funny look, a familiar one, when Ven claimed the myths beyond imagination existed, and the inevitable careful doubt came before the bright-eyed  _ really? _

“Hand to God,” Ven pledged, crossing his heart and raising his palm, grinning toothily when Sora fell into giggles. 

“To  _ God  _ God?” Sora asked, laughing again when Ven nodded solemnly. Despite being raised his entire life bound to religion, Sora had shucked it easily off his shoulders like a heavy winter coat. He’d shrugged his acceptance of differences as much as he had the truth of their nature. In a way, it was as if nothing could really touch Sora. “Alright, but if it’s another book it’s going into the fire.”

“Sora, I love you with all my immortal soul, but sometimes I really wonder about you,” Ven said, shaking his head in mock disgust as he followed Sora to the door. “Books are the best thing next to a fresh drink.”

“Now I  _ know  _ you’re bullshitting me.” 

The iron handle creaked as Sora turned it, and Ven’s grin hurt from how wide it was. He could imagine Sora’s response as he fell silent, seeing the table and the shed and all the care Ven had taken. Any second now, Sora would whirl around on his heel and tackle Ven with a enthusiastic hug, elbows in Ven’s shoulder and happy chatter in his ear. Sora would bounce and laugh and touch every single object and Ven would find Sora in this shed for days to come, with a brighter shine to his gaze and a eye-crinkling induced smile. He’d tell Ven about every single item, of all the memories and about old stories, and it’d be like Ven had undone every awful thing and plucked Sora from the past with nary a scratch on him, brand new and just as good.

He waited expectantly, folding his arms behind his back and rocking on his heels. Sora’s back was deathly still in front of him, and Ven thought he might not even be breathing. Was he  _ that  _ overjoyed?

It only took a single second more for Ven to realize it wasn’t joy freezing Sora to the spot. 

All at once, his delusions of cheer fell apart, and every inch of Sora’s taut, horrified body registered in his mind’s eye. He could see the tense lock of muscles in Sora’s shoulders and nape, and even  _ feel  _ the sheer shock from him.

_ Oh,  _ Ven thought, stomach sinking rapidly so fast it made him breathless.  _ Oh. _

Sora’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Where did you get these?”

Ven’s lips moved soundlessly as he tried to figure out what to say. He’d never thought it’d upset Sora. He thought Sora would be delighted. He thought’d he’d love to remember his happy past. “F-from the house,” Ven managed, wincing internally when Sora flinched. “Some of it didn’t…. Not all of it… burned down. I found most of it and cleaned them…” he trailed off into silence. Sora finally stepped into the shed, flinching again when he overestimated his gait and hit the table. It wobbled, the same old thing they’d had for a lifetime, inherited from Sora’s mother, and all the souvenirs that’d escaped the fire rattled with it.

With the most careful touch, Sora picked up a writing utensil. It was old, probably taken from their church ordained schooling before Sora had to leave to work in the fields. It was graphite wrapped a leather thong, long since treated and cured to withstand damn near anything, including a fire that burned an entire house to a charred caricature. He looked for a long time, and Ven remained at the door, trying his best to stay still even as his nerves stung with unease. He’d messed up. He’d messed up  _ really  _ bad. 

Scattered across the table top was mostly iron and metal furnishings. A pot, a pitcher, that vase. A few books hadn’t been at the house, but Ven had found them in the church that had raised Vanitas, and in his workplace where he’d transcribed for the populace. They’d been mostly documentations of the labor and produce, as well as lord’s earnings and taxes, but a handful were dedicated to medicine. Loose leaf pages stuck into a leather fold with all sorts of notes and careful research. It had made Ven’s throat close up and ache worse than thirst.

There were other things, objects Ven didn’t recognize the significance of but had saved nonetheless. To an immortal, there was no end of the sentimental threads that tangled and choked you. 

“You hate it,” Ven croaked, and to his mortification  _ his  _ eyes were welling up, smarting and burning and why was he crying when Sora was still dry-eyed? “It hurt you,” he added, whisper-weak and raw, a keening regret that struck Ven to his sternum with the force of a crippling blow. 

“I don’t hate it,” Sora said, and then turned to give Ven one of his smiles. The kind that made Ven feel seen and found and above all, wanted. It soured his stomach, made the guilt hit second like an after-shock to the regret. But he was dimpled, forgiving, the reed pencil clasped in his hand with the unfamiliar curl of fingers that had never learned to write or hold a pen. 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sora was learning how to write from Vanitas, who learned from the church where he was abandoned as a baby. However, the fire that threatened their lives bc the villagers found out about Ven's presence cut that blissful, halcyon time short. He never tried again and Ven has no clue that Sora won't read for more reasons than mere disinterest.


End file.
